


My Drabble is a Short One

by LivingInSmilesIsBetter (axm)



Category: Being Human (UK), Castle, Forever (TV), NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Bristol isn't actually awful, Caskett, Crossover, Densi - Freeform, Drabble, Drabbles, F/M, Jo/Henry Friendship - Freeform, Mortinez, One-Shots, jenry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 13,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4578054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axm/pseuds/LivingInSmilesIsBetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of unconnected stories, from prompts on Tumblr. All one-shots. Mostly Henry/Jo Friendship, or Mortinez. Fluff and a little angst. Hugs and kisses, hurt and comfort. Some crossovers (with Being Human, Castle, and NCIS LA). Pretty much all of my favorite things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anon tumblr prompt: Archaeology girl, write me Indiana Jones post ep Drabble?
> 
> 1x14 Post-ep
> 
> Jo/Henry friendship

Jo knocked on the door to Abe's Antiques, holding up a brown paper bag in front of the glass.

Henry turned at the sound, and strode through the store to greet her. He pulled the door open, a curious smile playing on his lips as he met her eyes.

"Hi," she said, the bag still gripped in one hand, the other raised in a half wave.

"Not a murder, I hope?" He ushered her inside, closing the door behind her and keeping the cold outside.

"Not a murder," she confirmed. Holding the bag back up, she shook it a little, and then handed it to him.

"What's this?"

"Open it," she commanded, rolling her eyes in faux annoyance.

He glanced into the bag, reached in and pulled out the DVD. "Indiana Jones," he said on a pleased sigh.

"Raiders of the Lost Ark," she finished. "Lucas was pretty upset you'd never heard of these."

"And you've remedied it." Still smiling, he said, "Thank you."

Jo shrugged, nonchalant. "So, uh, enjoy," she said, turning to leave.

"Would you care to stay? Watch?"

She stopped in her tracks, and turned back to him, and he saw the look on her face, saw the refusal about to come out of her parted lips.

"I insist," he told her, his voice firmer, but his eyes soft. "Abe may even have one of those hideous bags of microwave popcorn squirreled away somewhere."

She grinned. "Twist my arm."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forever-Fanfiction Tumblr reblogged this quote as a prompt:
> 
> "Let's get drunk together so I can kiss you and blame it on the vodka"
> 
> Mortinez. Set late S1.

She had been aiming for his cheek. She thought she had been on target. Her lips met a contrast of sensations: half smooth and a little damp with a hint of vodka, half coarse and prickly - and so very warm. It took her alcohol-sodden brain a few seconds to catch up, those seconds spent with her lips pressed to the corner of his mouth.

Oh.

Not his cheek after all, it seemed.

Jo felt Henry's lips curve up against her mouth and that was the moment she became aware she should stop now. Easing back, she focused her bleary eyes on his wide ones. Wide, but not upset. He was intrigued by the feel of her lips pressed to his skin; she could almost hear his thoughts. So much for a thank you peck on the cheek. So much for an innocent brush of her lips across his smooth skin to show her gratitude for him pulling her out of the line of fire. She had a bruise on her hip from hitting the ground instead of a bullet hole through her chest. The drinks had been to celebrate life, the kiss had been to thank him again when words started to lose their meaning and hadn't seemed enough anymore.

The lips were… too much.

And, Christ. Was he smirking?

"Sorry," she murmured, swivelling on her bar stool, back to her drink. She wrapped her hand around the glass, suddenly fascinated by the clear liquid filling it. "Vodka throws off my aim."

Even without looking she knew for sure he was smirking now.

But, God, he'd smelled so good. Her lips tingled with the memory of him against them, and she felt the heat spread through her as she caught herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him properly, with his lips moving against hers, his hot mouth open, his tongue—

Raising a hand, she caught the attention of the barkeep, said, "Whisky, thanks," and then pushed her glass away - ignoring Henry's chortle, smug smile, soft lips, stubble…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Scene where Jo is shot und Henry is worried
> 
> So, does a fic set late S1, that's basically how the 1x01 scene might go if it was set then, with parallels to the Molly/Henry hospital scene, work for you Anon? Because that's what I attempted here.
> 
> This drabble isn't such a short one.

* * *

_Red._

His palms, the cuffs of his shirt.

He turned his hands over, the slight tremble in them not escaping him, and stared, unblinking, at the dark stain caking under his nails.

_Jo's blood_.

One foot in front of the other, he told himself. Keep moving. For her.

"Doc, would you sit?"

Henry ceased his pacing in the white waiting room, lifted his eyes from his blood-stained hands, and met Hanson's scared – and exasperated – gaze.

"I can't sit down, Detective."

"At least stand still, would ya?" Hanson's eyes softened. "I know you're worried about Jo. But she's tough, Doc. She'll pull through."

Henry nodded, but Hanson's voice had let it slip that not even he believed himself. Jo was tough, but they'd almost lost her once on the cold, unforgiving pavement, Hanson hauling the suspect who'd shot her into the back of his car without a hint of mercy, while Henry had done all he could to keep Jo alive as they waited for the ambulance to arrive.

He'd pushed his way into the back of the ambulance, but had managed to keep out of the way, held the hand of his unconscious partner, and whispered for her to hold on. Once at the hospital he had been left behind in the waiting room, waiting for Hanson to arrive, more terrified than he'd felt in a long time.

"She will pull through," Henry repeated.

_She had to._

* * *

The passage of time had never seemed to move so slow, not in all his centuries, as it was now. Hands clean, he swore he could still see traces of pink stains, where he'd pressed his hands into her wound and begged her to hold on.

"Family," he said out loud, the thought striking him. He turned to Hanson, still in the same uncomfortable plastic chair, still trying to coax him to sit in one too, still refusing. "Does Jo have family, people who should be here?"

Hanson nodded. "I called her dad, he's on his way."

No brothers? Sisters? He wondered. Her mother? Several months spent working together now, and there was still so much he didn't know. So many questions he had never asked her, fearing he would have to respond to such questions in return.

"She's not gonna die, Doc. There's no need to gather her family at her bedside." He gave Henry a wry smile. "She's gonna take my head off just for phoning her dad."

"Have you ever done that before?" Henry asked, making his way over to where Hanson sat, finally relenting and dropping down into the chair next to his. "Told her father she's in hospital?"

Hanson shook his head. "Never."

The fear surged through him, and he clutched his hands tight together on his lap, but he couldn't keep them from shaking.

It had never been this close before.

* * *

The hours were spent pacing, and sitting, refusing coffee, and accepting another Styrofoam cup. Every time he sat down he fidgeted until he had to move again, and pushed himself to his feet. Every time he stood Hanson ordered him to sit down again. Every cup of coffee further damaged his frayed nerves.

Standing by the door again, staring out, anticipation, hope and dread filled him every time the doors through to the operating rooms flew open. "I can't lose her." The words slipped out, barely above a whisper.

"None of us can, Doc."

Henry turned and met Hanson's eyes. He hadn't meant for those words to be overheard, but the detective didn't push him, didn't question any deeper meaning behind them, simply nodded in understanding, and gave him an out.

Distracted, he hadn't seen the doors open. Distracted, he had almost jumped when the hinges on the door beside him creaked. He spun around, Hanson's eyes also now trained on the surgeon.

"Did she—" Henry stopped short, unable to finish the sentence.

"She's out of surgery."

"Can we see her?" Hanson asked.

"Famil-"

Hanson flashed his badge, interrupting the spiel. "He's her partner."

The surgeon nodded. "One at a time."

"Go, Doc," Hanson said, nodding at Henry.

Henry didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

A lump formed in his throat as his eyes fell upon her uncharacteristically pale skin, her body so very still.

"Jo?" he murmured her name as he entered her room.

Her head turned at the sound of his voice, a slow movement, cheek just rolling with the pillow to try and find him through clouded, unfocused eyes.

Stepping over to her bedside, he reached for her hand, resting limp above the sheet, and covered it with his. Tracing the pad of his thumb over her soft skin, he smiled at her confusion. "Welcome back."

Jo blinked rapidly, but the haze was beginning to clear. Her lips parted, and she managed a, "Bastard shot me."

It broke him, the scratchy tone of her voice, the words forced out through dry lips.

"That he did."

"You get him?" she asked, every word taking effort, still clawing her way back.

"Hanson took care of it."

"Good."

Her bleary eyes blinked a few more times, and a small smile ghosted across her lips. "You saved my life."

His hand squeezed hers, and he nodded down at his wounded partner. "You scared me, Jo," he told her, his voice breaking as he began to lose control of his emotions. He raked his free hand through his hair and heaved a heavy sigh. "You should know, your father is on his way."

Jo rolled her eyes, or at least gave it her best attempt. "I'm gonna kill Hanson."

"He's expecting as much."

Gracing him with a smile for that, she watched him for a moment, her eyes growing clearer, the beginnings of a spark in them. "Not sure if I want you in here, Henry," she began, a teasing lilt in her wavering voice. "Last time you were there when a girl came out of surgery you broke up with her."

"I should never have admitted to that," he replied.

"You're not gonna break up our partnership are you?"

She was joking, but he could see the fear darkening her eyes further. She was too unguarded now to hide it.

He squeezed her hand a little tighter. "No." Easing down into the chair beside him, still gripping her hand, he promised, "I'm not going anywhere."

_Ever_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Send me two or more characters and a number and I'll write a drabble" post on Tumblr.  
> LousieMcDoogle sent me: #5 "Are you drunk?" Henry/Jo.

Muttering to herself as she tied her robe around her waist, Jo made her way to her front door, and the knocking that would. not. stop. She yanked the door open, and glared at her visitor.

"Henry, what the hell?" She folded her arms across her chest. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Without a hint of coordination, he raised a finger into the air and parted his lips, ready to respond with some excuse, when the smell of alcohol hit her.

"Jesus, Henry, did you bathe in cognac?"

"I may have had a couple," he managed, leaning against her doorframe for support.

"A couple?" she scoffed. "Of bottles?"

"It's my wedding anniversary." His chin dropped. He heaved a sad, drunken sigh, and shoved his hands deep in his pockets, looking absolutely defeated.

It tugged at her heart, and any frustrations from having him show up on her doorstep at three in the morning vanished.

He lifted his head, and just like that his spark was back. "But that's not why I'm here. It was the brother!" he announced, his words, his sudden excitement, throwing her for an absolute loop.

And just like that her frustration returned. "What was…" She paused, and frowned. "Wait a minute, are you telling me you had some drunken revelation about the case at three in the morning?"

He swayed for a moment, before resting against the doorframe once more. "Yes."

"And for some reason you thought it was necessary to wake me up?"

He blinked, and then nodded. "Yes."

"How drunk are you?"

"Very," he said with conviction.

"How dead are you?"

"I'm guessing the answer to that would also be 'very'?" He threw her a pleased grin. "Not that it means anything. I'll return. Again. And again." The last 'again' came out on an exhausted sigh.

Jo's head hurt. From the frown lines etched deep between her eyes - and his words. "What are you talking about?"

He tilted his head, as though realizing perhaps he'd said something strange, and tried to cover it up with, "The case?"

"I refuse to discuss the case at three in the morning."

He considered her words, watched her through tired eyes. "Abigail..."

Jo sighed, and the sadness in his voice tore through her heart. She opened her door wider and reached for his arm. "Come on, Henry. I've got a couch you can sleep it off on." She guided him inside, his body leaning heavily against hers, each step through her darkened home a fight against the weight of the world, and alcohol.

Jo eased him onto her couch, and dropped down beside him. "You miss her," she said, moving her hand to his knee and giving it a light squeeze, before just letting it rest there.

His eyes drifted from her hand,up to her eyes, trying to focus. "She left me."

That was new. She didn't know when they split, the how or why. But she knew Henry loved her still, that the pain of losing her haunted him.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Shaking his head, he leaned back and closed his eyes. "Just need company."

She understood that need. Lifting her hand from his knee, she turned and reached behind her for the throw she kept on the back of the couch. She wrapped it around them both, until they were cocooned under the same blanket, two damaged people healing together.

"The brother," she asked, her voice low. "Really?" She turned her head a little to find him smiling.

"Really."

"Better tell me all about it then, in case you've forgotten once you're sober."

So he did. With a slight slur in his words, his body relaxing against hers, he solved the case. Smiling as all the pieces clicked into place, Jo let him talk until his voice faded out, until his eyes drifted shut, his head dropped against her shoulder, and his breathing evened out.

But she stayed awake, until dawn, keeping watch over him, on guard should any Abigail memories infiltrate his dreams, ready to rouse him with a gentle touch and ease him back.

Like he had done for her, on a difficult anniversary of her own.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From tumblr: "Episode17 filler for the bed scene (this is a prompt)"
> 
> So here's a short piece of Mortinez filler for that gas mask scene ;)

"Wear this," Henry said, handing her a gas mask.

She pulled it on and nodded once it was in place. "Alright, let's do this."

Gas began to fill the room and Henry moved to the bed, easing down on one side. He gestured for Jo to join him by patting the empty side with a gloved hand.

"Y'know I usually expect a guy to at least buy me a drink first."

"I assure you my intentions are purely scientific."

"You must be a riot in the bedroom," she told him, her tone dry, as she sat on the mattress, and then flopped down on her back.

"Never had any complaints."

Jo rolled her eyes and chuckled. He'd never really respected boundaries, not since the first time they met and he pointed out her nocturnal habits and the reason for them, so it didn't really surprise her that they were lying as close as they were, arms brushing, in a comfortable silence, waiting. With anyone else it might have been a little awkward but with Henry it just felt so normal - perhaps a little too nice. Lying in bed with Henry. Yes, it was definitely nice. Even fully-clothed, with gas masks strapped on their heads - still nice, still something she might want to revisit someday, minus a few things…

 _Murder. S_ he reminded her salacious brain why they were here (but, to be fair, it'd been a good six months since she last woke up in a strange bed, and the deep affection she felt for the man beside her was starting to become something more, so she could hardly be blamed for the places her mind was going to).

 _Murder. Death. Homicide investigation_ … A female detective's version of thinking about baseball…

"I guess there are worse ways to go."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:
> 
> Jenry. Sharing a bed. No gasmasks. Please and thank you!
> 
> This one got away from me. I got all sappy and gave myself feels.
> 
> Feeeeeeeelsssssssss.

Jo cracked her eyes open, the sound of movement near her rousing her from sleep.

Strange bed, unfamiliar room, sheets that smelled decidedly masculine.

 _Shit_.

A figure moved past the open bedroom door and relief washed over her - but slight confusion remained.

"Henry?"

She attempted to sit up but the pounding in her head forced her back down on the mattress, a low groan leaving her dry lips, muffled by her hands.

"Morning, Detective."

Head in her hands, she slid her fingers down until she could see Henry standing beneath the doorframe, smiling warmly at her.

"Is this-?" _Henry's bed_. Huh. That was new. "Why am I in your bed?" she asked in a failed attempt at an even tone.

"Because Lucas is on the couch."

"Of course." She flattened her palms over her eyes again, trying to block the light streaming in from the hall. "What time did we get in last night?"

"About three hours ago."

"Where did you sleep?" she asked the ceiling.

"I didn't."

"Henry," she said on a sigh.

"I assure you I'm fine."

"Liar." Forcing herself to sit up, she squinted against the light. He leaned against the wooden frame, a bit dishevelled, exhaustion lining his face. She sighed at him in exasperation. "Sleep."

He opened his mouth to protest and she held up a hand to silence him and then laid it flat on the empty space beside her.

"You need to sleep."

"I'm fine."

"You're swaying. You're not fine." Checking she was still fully-clothed, unable to remember if she'd tugged any of her clothing off in her inebriated state, she lifted the sheet. There was enough light in the room to confirm that yes, she was still dressed. She pushed the sheet off, and eased her legs off the side of the bed.

Henry stood at the door, watching. "You too need sleep," he reminded her.

"Yes, but I've had a couple of hours."

"Not nearly enough."

"Still more than you," she fired back from where she sat on the edge of the bed, head pounding, eyeing the floor, wondering if she was sober enough to walk a straight line. She didn't feel it. Her hands gripped the sheet beneath her, and she sucked in a deep breath. Okay, she could do this.

Pushing himself away from the door, Henry shook his head at her. She could tell, from the tight lines that formed in the corners of his eyes, in his brow, that he instantly regretted that sudden movement.

What a pair they made.

The door closed behind him and he made his way over to the bed, her eyes slow to adjust in the dark room as she tried to focus on him. She felt the mattress dip behind her, heard the rustle of the sheets, summoned the strength to walk out of the room without throwing up an evening's worth of alcohol. They went hard last night. Too hard. Tough case, long week, and the night out after solving it had been one for the books.

"How'd we get here?" she asked, elbows on her thighs, head in her hands, her stomach in her throat and threatening to rise higher still.

"Abe," Henry confirmed from behind her. "Picked us up, brought us all back here, settled Lucas on the couch and then steered you to my room."

"And you?"

"Handed me clothes to change into, a cup of coffee, and a disapproving glare."

Jo huffed out a laugh into her hands.

"Hey," he said, and she felt his touch on her arm.

Dragging her head from her palms, she turned with slow, careful movements to find him beneath the sheets, on his back, head on the pillow, watching her with sad eyes.

Patting the space she had vacated, he said, "Sleep."

She heaved a deep sigh. She desperately wanted to just lie back, close her eyes, and sleep as much of it off as she could. The idea of getting into a moving vehicle made her feel even greener than she did already, and home seemed so very far away.

Shifting onto her back, Jo avoided his eyes and settled back on the pillow again, her eyes slipped close - and the room started to spin. Oh, _not good_.

"I am never drinking again," she bemoaned. A soft chuckle sounded beside her. "Shut up, Henry," she warned. If she lay very still, everything would be fine. The room would settle, and perhaps she wouldn't power chuck all over her partner. "How's Lucas doing?"

"About as well as you'd expect."

"Is he conscious?"

"He's sleeping it off. Like you should be."

"And you," she reminded him.

"Yes," he placated.

But she was awake now, in pain, still drunk, but awake. "Nice pajamas, by the way."

"These were a gift."

"From Abe?"

"Yes, from Abe."

He sounded indignant, and it made her smile in the darkness. Turning, very, very slowly, onto her side, a hand slipped beneath the pillow and she leaned into it, her eyes now fixed on him, adjusting in the dim light and finding his profile. Curiosity got the better of her; she had him somewhat trapped, on the bed beside her, and damn if she was going to let this moment pass without squeezing a little more information out of him. "Is Abe the only family you have in the city?" She knew they weren't related, but the relationship they had, it seemed so familial she couldn't describe the two of them any other way.

He was silent for a moment, and then the mattress dipped and he turned onto his side, his eyes meeting hers.

"You've mentioned your father, but your mother, is she..?"

"Also deceased."

Her heart broke for him, for all the loss he'd endured. "I'm glad you have Abe," she mused out loud. Despite the darkness she could see his eyes, he was laying so close to her, and they softened as they held hers.

"Abe isn't the only family I have in this city."

Interest piqued, she asked, "Oh?" One corner of his lips quirked up in a smile, and Jo's head throbbed as the little twitch of his mouth made her frown, replay his words, read deeper into them, between them. "No, don't you dare get sappy on me now, Henry," she warned. "There's too much alcohol in my system for that."

"I've grown rather fond of you, Detective."

The _detective_ didn't go unnoticed, the way he avoided her name, to rein in the emotion behind the words.

"What?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood that had settled upon them, this heavy, strange atmosphere that sparked with... _something_. "No backhanded compliment? No scientific explanation for that affection?"

He didn't respond, he just reached a hand out and tucked stray strands of hair behind her ear, his fingertips ghosting across her skin before he pulled his hand away.

She felt heat rising through her, heat that radiated out from her heart, made her feel loved. "You're drunk," she told him in a gentle voice, so low it was only just audible.

"In vino veritas," he replied.

"Mmmm," she hummed. "Or in cognac veritas."

"Drunk or sober," he began, holding her eyes with his, "the sentiment remains. This family grew by one when you entered our life, and there will always be a place at our table for you."

His words made her breath hitch; the affection she already felt for him, for Abe, settled deeper within her, and she felt at a loss for words. It would have been easy to defuse the moment with sarcasm, but he deserved more than that this time. Her palm moved to cup the side of his face, his stubble rough against her skin, her thumb brushing the softer, smoother skin of his cheek. Rising up, she bridged the small distance between them and kissed him sweetly. Her lips caressed his in a quick, gentle kiss, a thank you her words wouldn't have done justice, before she pulled back and gave him a soft smile. She let her thumb brush across his cheek once more, before her hand slipped from his face.

He caught it, before it could fall back to rest against her side, and curled his hand in hers, until his fingers filled the spaces between hers and held tight.

"Sleep," she whispered in the darkness, her voice thick with emotion, a sudden lump in her throat.

He brought her hand to his lips, and brushed a kiss across her fingers. He let their hands rest against his heart, the rhythm of each beat resonating through the side of her hand, down to her bones, through to her own heart.

Closing her eyes, needing to break away from the intense gaze burning through her, she could still feel his heart drumming along against her hand, could still smell his comforting scent, could still hear his words replaying in her mind.

The room had stopped spinning, her stomach had settled, and a warmth started to diffuse into the empty places in her heart and fill it again.

"Sleep," Henry murmured, repeating her words back to her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Her heart swelled in her chest, and she smiled.

Yep, that was definitely love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble sparked the 5 chapter fic " The First Day of the Rest of Your Life ", which is on my profile.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon said: 8 - Hanson, Jo, and Henry? :)
> 
> So #8 was "I'll be right over" - if I recall correctly? The result might not be quite what you were expecting…
> 
> 1x11 post-ep drabble

"I'll be right over," Jo assured her distraught partner, the search for Clark Walker over with one devastating phone call.

She moved her cell away from her mouth, called to Hanson, and then said into the phone, "We all will, just hang on."

"What's going on?" Hanson asked, falling into step beside Jo, the call ended but the phone still clutched in her hand, gripped so tight her knuckles were white.

"Henry needs us."

Without a word more, she headed for her car, Hanson following. They collected Lucas from the morgue, still finishing up some paperwork of his own, and it wasn't until they were all in her car, on the way to Henry's, that she filled them in.

Henry, in self defense, had taken the life of his stalker. Henry had killed a man, in his own home.

No matter how many different ways she said it the impact remained the same.

Silence filled the car after that, sadness filled their hearts, and thoughts about how to comfort their friend filled their minds.

They didn't crowd him once they arrived at the scene; when the time was right, each one stepped over to him, comforting him in their own ways. Hanson and his firm words and brief contact; Lucas, covering him in a blanket, silent and somber; Jo, the last of the three, but lingering longer, coaxing words out of him, comforting him with the knowledge he wasn't alone.

But, for Jo, nothing spoken, no gentle touch, felt enough. She considered offering him a place to sleep for the night, both he and Abe, away from the scene. But the offer would have been declined, and perhaps rightly so. Perhaps the only way to start moving forward was to face it, tonight, with Abe as his support.

He would speak to her when he was ready - at a bar, over a bottle of something ridiculously expensive, what few words she could draw out of him a big step forward.

She left, after Hanson and Lucas, waiting around as long as she could without overstaying her welcome, just watching over him from a distance. Because it was Christmas. And the world just seemed a lot less merry tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lousiemcdoogle prompted me: "I'll take a Henry/Jo friendship prompt, please, where Jo drags Henry along to an annual NYPD family-day-style-picnic with races etc"
> 
> Castle/Forever crossover

"Listen to me, Henry," Jo warned, looking up at him from where she was crouched on the grass, slipping the band around their ankles. "Nothing else matters except…?"

"Beating the Twelfth," he recited, having had those words drummed into him the entire morning. "Yes, you've made that quite clear, Detective."

Band secure, she stood, linked her arm with his, and nodded to her right. "They've won this damn event the past six years, but no more."

Henry leaned back and glanced over at the couple, the tall brunette with the sleek up-do, the ruggedly-handsome man, who seemed familiar…

"Detective Martinez," the brunette greeted her, having caught Henry staring.

"Detective Beckett," Jo said kindly, returning the greeting.

"New partner this year," Beckett noted.

"The old one kept letting me down." She turned to find Henry and Castle eyeing one another up. Leaning in, she whispered to him, "We're a good team, Henry. We can do this."

Henry's eyes were now fixed on the ring-adorned fingers of the two partners beside him. He observed them, noticing how Detective Beckett's head had come to rest on her partner's shoulder while they waited.

"Unfortunately the team beside us has the advantage of a more intimate knowledge of one another," he told Jo. At her furrowed brow, he added, "They're married."

"Dammit," she hissed under her breath. And, just like all the past years, the Eleventh was screwed. They were a good team, but they didn't have six years of partnership behind them, they didn't have the same level of trust, nor the synchronisation. They couldn't anticipate the other's next move quite like a married couple could. "No," she decided, her tone firm. "We can do this." Grasping his arm a little tighter, she asked, "You ready?"

Henry side-eyed the man again, and then nodded in determination. He placed his hand over Jo's, securing it around his elbow, and said, "Ready."

The starter pistol fired, and the teams jolted forward. It only took a moment, one misstep at the start, for Henry and Jo to find their rhythm, running alongside Castle and Beckett, lengthening their strides, desperate to get just an inch ahead. It was going to happen. This year for sure. With Henry at her side there was no way the Eleventh Precinct was losing the three-legged race to the Twelfth. Not again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if you still take requests could you do one where Jo asks Henry about the scar before she knows he is immortal? thank you! -  
> henrymorgcn
> 
> Done! I hope this is okay :) It starts as 1x17 filler for the gas mask scene, and morphs into a 1x22 post-ep ;)
> 
> Long drabble is long.

"Why death, Henry?" Jo asked after his spiel about starvation had concluded. She shifted slightly on the pillow to study his profile.

"Feeling existential, Detective?" He held up the oximeter, taking in the numbers on the screen, but they were lower than he'd hypothesized they would be by this time. Still, he felt a need to lighten the moment. "Perhaps the gas is working."

"No, I mean, why did you choose death?" she asked, turning onto her side to face him. Her interest piqued, it was clear she wasn't letting him off the bed without a satisfying answer. "What happened to you? Did you grow up next to a cemetery or something? I mean your file says you were a grave digger."

"Yes, right." He turned to face her, aware he wasn't getting out of this as easy as he hoped. Choosing the closest answer to the truth that he could, without going into detail as to why, he said, "I guess I enjoy solving puzzles." It occurred to him then, perhaps a bit too late, just how close they were now. An inch more and their respirators would be bumping together, a slight shift of his hand and it would be on top of hers. "I mean, what greater riddle is there?" he said, finishing his response before his mouth said something supid, like how beautiful she was. He was lucky she took it so well last time. Despite their positions, and the fact he was perhaps letting himself get a little too lost in her expressive eyes, it felt quite comfortable, normal even, to be laying on a bed having such an honest conversation with Jo. Honest in the feelings behind his words, if perhaps he was leaving a lot of the story out.

"What's to solve?" she asked, her voice soft, coaxing the answers out of him. "You want to live forever?"

He felt a twinge of discomfort then. "Not exactly."

"Then what, exactly?"

He searched her eyes, and the more he gazed into them, saw the hope, the wonder, the questions, the more he wanted to tell her. Feeling brave, he said, "You asked me once about my scar."

"I remember," Jo replied. "You said you'd been shot."

"Yes."

Jo licked her lower lip, pausing before asking, "How close did you come to death?"

"Closest I've ever come. My heart stopped."

"Oh, God," Jo murmured. "You died?"

"Briefly."

Pain filled her eyes, and she reached for his gloved hand, covering it with her own. "I'm glad you pulled through," she said gently.

He graced her with a soft smile. "I was lucky."

She blew out a puff of air, an almost-laugh, clearly bemused by his flippant tone. "What happened?" she asked, her hand sliding of his, back on the blankets, and he missed the warmth instantly.

"A disagreement," he said, putting it as simply as he could.

"And someone felt it necessary to shoot you?" She raised an eyebrow, her respirator shifting, moving with her muscles. "I know you can be infuriating at times, but that's a little extreme."

The corner of Henry's mouth quirked up in a half smile. "Yes, well, not everyone acts rationally."

"No," she agreed. "It's a hell of a scar though, what kind of gun was it?"

"A flintlock from the eighteenth century."

"Wow," Jo breathed out. "Of all the guns it could have been you had to be shot with something a little unusual, didn't you."

He flashed her a grin.

She returned the grin, but it faltered and her eyebrows drew together in thought. "The scar wasn't recent," she mused. "How old were you?"

"It was a long time ago now," he said in response, choosing his words carefully.

"Well," she began, still holding his eyes, still studying him as she spoke. "You now make a whole lot more sense to me, Henry." She gave him a soft smile, and her eyes dipped to his lips and lingered there. He hated to assume. Maybe she was just focusing on the respirator. But the idea of Jo wanting to kiss him was strangely appealing. She was accepting, and trusting, and it gave him hope that the day he elaborated on his story she might actually believe him. And stay. And allow him to kiss her.

Her eyes flicked back up to his; color darkened her cheeks as she realized she'd been caught focusing on his mouth.

"It's not something I like to talk about," he said, sparing her any questions as to why she might suddenly find his mouth fascinating. "But I told you that night that it was a story I wanted you to know, and I meant that."

She cleared her vision with a series of rapid blinks, like she was trying to erase images from her mind. He could hardly blame her. It was intimate, laying on this bed beside her, bodies so close their hands and knees brushed together. It was perhaps a good thing - for their partnership - that the gas prevented them from removing their masks.

"There is more to the story," he admitted.

"Of course there is." Her voice was softer now, a little sad.

"I-" The timer sounded, cutting him off. Saved, he supposed. "Another time," he promised.

* * *

Two months later Jo stood before him, eyes shining in wonder. She knew his secret now. It had been a rough afternoon. She'd almost walked out twice, the first because she thought he was messing with her, the second when she became a little overwhelmed by it all. But he saw it, the moment it all came together in her mind, the moment she believed. Her eyes drifted to his chest, and she sucked her lower lip between her teeth, brow furrowing, and he knew what she was remembering.

"You told me once," she began, her voice wavering, "About your scar." She paused to suck in a breath. "That was when this happened."

"Yes." His fingers moved to the buttons on his shirt, he hesitated, and then began undoing the top few buttons. She had seen it once, now knowing the fullstory it felt necessary to allow her to see it again. With deft movements, each button was slowly freed of the hole, until he could ease the material over to the side and reveal the scar. Her eyes shifted to it, and she frowned as she studied the old wound.

"You wanted me to know the story." She breathed the words out, her eyes still on the scar.

"You're one of four I've wanted to tell, and have told. One of four, Jo."

Her eyes darted back to his. "In two hundred years you've told four people?"

He nodded. "My first wife, Nora. My beloved Abigail. My son, Abraham. And you, my partner, my friend." Smiling kindly, he added, "My family."

Bridging the space between them, Jo reached for his shirt and adjusted the material until the scar was covered again. With a bunch of his shirt gathered in each fist, she leaned in and brushed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you," she murmured against his skin. "For trusting me."

He stood very still, wondering what might happen next. Dare he kiss her? She was so close, her cheek grazing his now, and it would be so easy to capture her lips. He wanted to. But he'd just hit her with one hell of a story - one she probably didn't even completely believe, not fully, not just yet. There was no need to rush these feelings he had for her, feelings he'd only recently recognized himself.

Her arms snaked around his neck and she pulled him close. "It's okay, Henry," she promised him, and for a moment he wondered if she'd been inside his head. "Your secret is safe with me."

"That wasn't quite what I was thinking about," he admitted, his hands coming to rest on her waist, his nose nuzzling her hair before he could stop himself.

She was silent as she stood in his arms, her body tensing a little, uncertain as to what might happen next.

He slipped his arms around her and they stood in the quiet laboratory, just holding one another for a moment. "I've been thinking about you, about us…"

"I have too," she admitted, her voice soft. "Since, uh, well I want to say Paris, but perhaps before then."

He squeezed her a little tighter.

"And it wasn't supposed to… I wasn't supposed to fall for you, Henry," she told him, her voice breaking as she spoke. "But I did." She sighed and shook her head, pulling back to meet his eyes.

"Thirty years," he admitted, exhaling a long sigh. "Thirty years of refusing to get close to people. And then I met you." His hand cupped her cheek and he smiled softly. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against hers. Her hands gripped at his shirt again, pulling him closer as she kissed him back.

"Dinner's ready if you're-" Abe froze. "Hungry."

Jo and Henry separated, a wide grin on Henry's face, a sheepish expression on Jo's. "Impeccable timing, as always, Abraham," Henry muttered.

"Sorry, Pops."

Jo let out a joyous puff of air. "I might never get used to that," she told them. " _Pops_. That is bizarre."

Henry's hand came to rest on her arm, and she turned to him. "Stay for dinner," he told her.

"I'd love to." She turned to Abe and threw him a cheeky smile. "I'm sure you've got some stories you're bursting to tell."

"You have no idea," Abe replied, the smile on his lips letting them both know he was already planning which to start with.

He turned and headed back up the stairs. Jo moved to follow when Henry curled his fingers around her hand, and pulled her in for another warm hug.

"Your story is ridiculous, Henry, you know that right?" she whispered into his neck.

"Yes."

She huffed out a sigh. "Why do I believe you?"

"Because it's true."

"And because I trust you," she told him. "Despite everything, I trust you."

He smiled into her hair. "We should go eat before Abe comes back down and forcibly relocates us to the terrace."

She stepped out of his embrace, curled her fingers around his elbow, and nodded. "On our way up you can tell me what to expect when you do something stupid and die in front of me."

He tried to smile but suspected it was more of a grimace than anything else. "Right," he replied. "Yes. About that…"

"Do you really just disappear?" she asked as they ascended the stairs together.

"I'm afraid so."

"Where do your clothes end up?"

"I wish I knew."

"But the pocket watch stays?"

The questions continued all the way up to the terrace, and through dinner, and although there were too many he couldn't answer he did the best he could with what little he knew about his condition.

As the evening drew to a close, before moving to clear the table, Jo reached for his hand and gave him a hopeful smile. "We'll figure this out together," she promised him, squeezing his hand and holding tight so he couldn't let her go.

He squeezed her hand back and nodded. Maybe she was who he'd been waiting for. Maybe together they could solve this. Break this curse. Cure him.

Maybe…


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the Forever-fanfiction tumblr: "I need a Forever x Castle crossover where everyone gets confused and keeps calling Henry "Eric Vaughn" and in the end Castle discovers Henry's secret. And Abe and Martha are a couple because they'd be the most adorable sassy people in history and it would be amazing." - Anon
> 
> One-shot for now but likely to end up a two-shot if the muse plays nice (need to finish the prompt, y'know)

"Castle? What are you doing?"

Peering out through the bookcases into the living room, Castle kept his eyes trained on the man helping his mother into a shawl. "Nothing."

Finding a good sized gap in the books, Beckett stood at her husband's side in their study and focused her eyes on the scene in the dimly-lit room beyond. "He stayed the night?"

"Looks that way," Castle replied, a hint of disdain marring his voice.

"Huh, that's new. She usually spends the night at his place."

"He did mention the guy he shares his place with had recently started dating," Castle mused.

"You gonna have the talk with Martha about keeping doors open?"

Castle visibly shuddered. "It's your turn."

Beckett threw his profile a withering glare. "This one seems serious," she added, turning back to watch the couple putter around the living room on their way out of the loft. "How long's it been now?"

"Two months and four days."

A low bubble of mirth left Beckett's lips. "Not that you're counting." Worrying her lower lip as she watched the happy couple throw light-hearted banter back and forth, she said, "We should invite his family over for dinner." She paused. "He does have family, right?"

"Only ever mentions Henry, which is weird, don't you think?" Castle narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Abe's body-language towards his mother.  
The door to the loft closed behind Martha and Abe, and Castle straightened up. In a louder voice, he said, "What do we even know about this guy?"

Beckett straightened her spine, and turned to him. "Oh no, no you are not having the boys do a background check on Abe," she warned, poking a finger to his chest for emphasis as she spoke.

"Ow," he whined. "And geez, Beckett, I would never!"

She merely lifted an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine, I may have in the past but no, I was thinking about the antique shop he claims to own."

"The antique shop he does own," Beckett corrected.

Giving her a light peck on the cheek, Castle turned and as he wandered through the study towards the bedroom, he murmured, "Been thinking for a while it's time to replace the writing desk."

Beckett groaned, and then followed her husband. There was no way this could end well.

* * *

"Wow." Beckett's mouth fell open at the sight before her. "Impressive collection."

Standing beside Beckett inside the antique store, Castle tried to hide his own awe. "It's not bad."

She elbowed him hard in the ribs. "Be nice."

Rubbing his side, Castle huffed, "Still not seeing proof he owns this place."

"You still don't believe Abe owns _Abe's Antiques_?"

"Common name," Castle muttered.

"What are you so scared of?"

"Scared?" Castle blew out a disbelieving puff of air. "I'm scared of nothing."

"Mmhmmm." Glancing around, she said, "Okay then, if you were a writing desk in an antique store…" Trailing off, she sighed. "I'm getting the impression these kinds of stores don't have any kind of system."

"May I help you?"

Beckett turned at the voice – and inhaled sharply. "Eric Vaughn?" she asked, surprise filling her tone.

The man frowned. "No." Extending a hand, he said, "I'm Doctor Henry Morgan."

Beckett shook it. "Doctor?" she asked, impressed.

At her tone, Castle said, a slight hint of a teasing warning in his voice, "Beckett."

"Sorry, right. I'm Kate, this is Rick."

Henry smiled. "Yes, I'm quite familiar with you, Mister Castle." He nodded to Kate. "And you, Detective Beckett."

Castle's face fell. "Abe is your father?"

"No," Henry said, smiling. "Not my father." Tilting his head, he flashed Castle a broad grin. "Abe is rather fond of your mother."

"I've noticed," Castle said drily.

"Anyway," Beckett began, clearing her throat after the word. "We're actually here for a writing desk, if you have any."

But Castle's mind was on other things. "I couldn't help notice the stairs over there," he said, pointing towards the back of the shop as Henry led them towards a desk. "An office, or…?"

"A home," Henry finished.

"Right, of course."

"You live above the shop?" Beckett asked.

Henry nodded. "Abraham was very kind to take me in, but," he said, a teasing glint in his eyes, "I may be looking for alternative accommodation soon."

Feeling Castle tense beside her, Beckett looped her arm through his and guided him. "Oh, look, a writing desk."

Castle merely grunted.

Her brain suggested the plan to move out was because Henry had recently started dating, but she knew all Castle could think was Abe was planning on sharing the small space above the store with his mother. "Excuse him," Beckett said to Henry. "Hasn't had his coffee yet."

"I understand," Henry replied, the smile never leaving his handsome, scruffy, somewhat rugged, face.  
All she could see was Eric Vaughn, and it was messing with her head. She knew Castle well enough to know some of his current hostility was because he was seeing the billionaire entrepreneur too.

"So, any relation to Vaughn?" Kate asked, giving Castle a little push until his hip was brushing the side of the desk and he had no choice but to look down at it.

"No, none that I'm aware of, although I do agree the resemblance is uncanny."

"So you get mistaken for him a lot?"

"It happens," Henry agreed.

"It's not quite what I'm looking for," Castle finally said, his voice flat.

With a despondent cloud well and truly hanging above her husband, Beckett looped her hand around his elbow again, and squeezed. "We can try another place."  
Smiling at Henry, she said, "Thank you for your time."

"My pleasure," he replied. "Should Abe acquire any more desks, I'm sure he'll let Martha know."

"Thank you." She flashed Eric – _Henry_ , damn, that was going to take some getting used to – a final smile and then guided her husband back out of the store and into the spring sun.

"It's hard when you realize Martha might be serious about moving out this time," she said gently. Lacing her fingers through his, she gave him a reassuring smile. "She's happy, Castle. This is good."

The door to the shop opened, and they both turned to find Henry giving them an apologetic smile. "Sorry to interrupt, but Abe is like family to me. I was thinking, perhaps you'd like to join us tomorrow evening for dinner?"

Before Castle could grumble a response, Kate squeezed his hand, a silent plea to keep quiet. "We'd love to," she told Henry.

"Fantastic. I shall organize it with Abraham and Martha. Does seven suit?"

"It's perfect," Kate replied. "See you tomorrow, Henry." She squeezed Castle's hand – hard.

"Tomorrow," Castle said quickly. "Can't wait."

Henry chuckled at Castle's lack of enthusiasm, and then with a quick nod of his head turned and retreated back into the store.

Turning back to Castle, Beckett raised an eyebrow. "Tomorrow you will be your usual charming self," she warned.

"Assuming the background checks come back clean."

She dropped his hand and turned away. "I want no part in this," she told him, before walking back to the car.

"A week with the Ferrari and a few courtside tickets and Espo and Ryan will have my back."

"Mmmhmmm."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Prompt: Forever, Jo hugs Henry. Platonic or romantic's up to you. :)

The loud _pop, pop, pop_ of gunfire had filled the air around her. Strong arms wrapped around her, heaved her out of the way of the bullets as they whizzed past. In the chaos, at the time, she couldn't remember hitting her head on the pavement as her body had collided with the cold cement. She remembered the searing pain, the blood, Henry's terrified voice asking if she was okay, demanding she open her eyes and look at him, and all she could think was: _Cause of death: GSW to the head. What a way to go, Martinez._

But she had groaned, opened her eyes, lifted a shaking hand to her head, and found the gash but her skull intact, and she'd almost laughed at herself. _Almost._

"Next time, Henry, you gotta stick the landing."

He frowned as he crouched beside her. "I do apologize for the heavy landing, Jo." Examining her wound with a careful touch, he added, "If it's any consolation, this won't require stitches."

She gave him a weak smile. The gunfire had ceased, and Hanson's voice yelling down the alley told them the suspect was down.

"You're off the clock, Jo," Hanson told her as he walked past. "Get that graze checked out. See you Monday."

Henry caught her unimpressed glare.

"Just remember I saved your life," he told her, his voice as gentle as his grip as he helped her to her feet.

She grunted, a combination of pain and disdain. Feeling woozy, she sighed and held tight to his arm, finding her balance. "I probably shouldn't drive."

"I'll take you home." Catching the apprehensive look she was giving him, he added, "I can drive, Detective."

"Fine," she conceded, fishing her keys out of her pocket and handing them to him. She was too tired to argue, too beat up and sore. His intention had been to give her something soft to land on, her body having ended up somewhat on top of his as they'd fallen, but at that speed his body was almost as hard as the pavement, all sharp edges and bones. She was pretty sure his ribs had taken more of a beating than he was letting on. She still couldn't remember when exactly her forehead had hit the ground.

But she remembered the fear gripping her, the panicked voice in her head telling her it was all over.

She couldn't shake that voice.

"I'd feel better if you allowed the–"

"No, Henry," she interrupted. "I know where that sentence is going. I'm fine. I will be fine. You said I don't need stitches, just take me home."

With one look he managed to both argue with her, and give in to her request. She thanked him with a smile.

* * *

He drove her home. He allowed her the silence she clearly needed, but stole glances at her at every red light. Even with her eyes fixed straight ahead she could feel him watching her. But the "I'm fine" she was desperate to say refused to leave her lips.

She wasn't fine.

Not even close.

He opened her front door for her, and she stepped in, and then stopped. Frozen in place in her living room, she murmured, "I thought I'd taken a shot to the head."

A blanket was wrapped around her shoulders and she let him guide her to the couch.

"You're in shock, Jo."

"Yeah, that's a pretty apt description of how I'm feeling," she replied.

His fingers probed at her wound and she flinched. "Sorry."

"I hit my head?" she asked in response.

"Ah, we both did, actually."

"What?" She looked at him then, her eyes focusing, and she saw the red welt on his forehead for the first time. "So I didn't hit my head on the ground?"

"No," he said, a little embarrassed.

"I'm bleeding because of your thick skull?"

He chuckled at that. "And I am bruised because of yours."

"What a pair we make."

He smiled. "I don't think I caused you any permanent damage." At her concerned look, he added, "And I'll be fine."

His arm snaked around her shoulders and he eased her against him. "I apologize for the hard landing, but you could have been killed, Jo. I did what was necessary."

"I know," she murmured against him, careful to keep from bumping the tender spot on her head with his shoulder as she settled.

His lips brushed her hair, and he lingered for a moment, breathing her in.

"You're getting reckless, Henry," she said, her voice low, her breath hitting his neck.

"I find that happens when I am in love."

She huffed against him.

"What?" he asked, amusement lacing his tone. "You don't think I'm in love, Detective?"

"Oh no," she said, pausing to ghost her lips across the stubble peppering his jaw. "I know you are."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Forever, Jo hugs Henry. Platonic or romantic's up to you. :)
> 
> 3 sentence post-finale fic. No names, no dialogue, just this little scene:

She found him on the shores of the East River, shivering in the December air, damn lucky the river wasn't frozen. Without a word she wrapped her arms around his cold, wet body and clung to him, her lips pressing into his strong shoulder, smiling as his own arms snaked around her waist and he clung to her in return.

She didn't care that his naked body was flush with hers, that it would in ordinary circumstances be awkward; he'd taken longer to come back this time - and she could feel it in the embrace he was returning, in the silence surrounding them, that it had terrified him too.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: From jo-martinez's prompt post: "Henry moving Jo's hair out of the way to clasp a necklace for her"

Henry's breath caught in his lungs as he opened the door. "Detective," he greeted her once he had found his voice.

"Just Jo tonight," she reminded him. Her eyes met his and she sighed. "I look ridiculous, I know," she huffed, misreading his stunned expression.

"You look lovely," he corrected, stepping back and allowing her to enter. Lovely was an understatement. She looked lovely every day, but seeing her out of her usual work clothes, in a dress and heels, smoky eyes and red lips and hair softly curled, she had stolen his breath from him.

"Well the sooner this undercover op is over and the sooner I'm back in flats and a good worn-in shirt, the better."

He could admit she didn't walk with her usual grace, the heels nothing more than a hindrance, the dress tight and restrictive. He could see she was worrying over how she would run after a suspect in her outfit – but then he imagined a frustrated Jo Martinez kicking off her heels and ripping a slit up the entire side of the dress, and he knew she really had nothing to worry about.

"Well aren't you a vision."

Jo turned at the sound of Abe's voice and gave him a soft smile. "A vision of awkwardness when I fall in these stupid shoes."

"Trust me, kid, the way you look right now you'll have so many elbows being offered for support you won't have a chance to fall."

She ducked her head shyly, hiding her smile.

"And," Abe continued, "a little something to complete the outfit." He held out an antique necklace. "It's Victorian, isn't that right, Henry?"

"That's correct, Abraham, but you knew that." Henry smiled and carefully took the necklace from Abe, Jo's wide eyes never leaving the item. Henry looked down fondly at the emerald teardrop pendants that hung from the intricate gold chain with so many wonderful memories attached. He raised his eyes to meet Jo's and his smile grew – and so many new memories to make. "May I?"

"Oh no, no I couldn't."

But Henry merely stood before her, holding the necklace up, each end of the vintage clasp between his index finger and thumb, waiting patiently for her to give in. And with a sigh of defeat, she did. She turned and shifted her hair aside for him.

He placed the necklace around her neck, easing it beneath her hair. As he moved to do up the clasp tendrils of her hair shifted. Holding both ends of the clasp in one hand, he brushed her hair in front of her shoulder, his fingertips ghosting across her bare skin as he did so. He felt the little shiver run through her at the contact, and a rush of warmth surged through him as goosebumps rose on her skin. The touch had affected them both, and he paused before pulling his hand away from her soft hair, her smooth skin.  
Swallowing, he focused on his task again, securing the clasp with less than steady hands, and moved her hair back into place, careful not to graze her skin this time – even though he so desperately wanted to.

That wasn't all he desperately wanted to do. The scent of her subtle perfume teased him from where she'd placed it on her pulse point, above her clavicle, and the need to press his lips to her long, inviting neck almost undid him.

But no. Perhaps at the end of the evening. Perhaps a week from now. A month. Maybe even a year, if he had to wait that long. But not never. No, his self-control wasn't that impressive.

Jo cleared his throat, the sound bringing him back. He allowed his hands to drift to her bare shoulders, just briefly, giving her a gentle squeeze, before turning her to face him.

"Perfect," he said, managing to keep his voice even as he took in the sight of her.

A shy smile tugged at her lips, and she took a step back. "We should go," she told him, her voice quieter than usual.

He nodded in agreement. "Goodnight, Abe," he said to his son.

Abe threw him a sly smile. "Don't worry. I won't wait up."

Jo said nothing, escaping out into the street as fast as her heels allowed. Henry threw a low, "Abraham!" over his shoulder as he followed, but there was no anger in his tone. Truth was, he didn't want to wait a year, a month, a week, not even a day. No, but perhaps he could manage just a few more hours…


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: also one of jo-martinez's: "Henry and Jo going to a party as an undercover couple. Henry starting to slow dance with her even after the party's over and there's no one around, just because."
> 
> So this is connected to the last prompt about the necklace. Same undercover op. Same night. Same feels - just a few more of them.

It seemed the suspect wasn't going to show. People with more money than Jo could ever imagine filled the room, lobes weighed down by ridiculously expensive earrings, and necklaces with pendants that could anchor a ship in a hurricane. The rocks on their fingers – it baffled her as to why it was necessary. And yet here she was, living the life of luxury for the evening, pretending to be in love with the handsome – rich – man on her arm.

Okay, well, that part wasn't such a stretch, and wasn't completely awful.

But the heels were killing her; the dress could have used just a little more fabric; and her gun was hidden in the most uncomfortable of places. It was going to be tough retrieving it without flashing everyone. She almost hoped the suspect didn't show for that little dilemma alone.

But at – _she checked her watch and sighed_ – just five minutes until midnight it looked like the evening had been a huge waste of time.

* * *

Henry saw her patience fading. To anyone else she probably appeared as the bored housewife, a fake smile on her lips, eyes holding a lot less life than in her youth – but Henry saw through the undercover persona, right through to the uncomfortable, antsy Jo below. His hand curled at her elbow, and his lips brushed her ear, and she almost jolted out of her skin at the sudden contact. He chuckled, and asked, "Would you like to dance?"

"Uh…" Jo glanced around, and then shrugged. "Might be a better way of canvassing the room actually," she conceded.

"With five minutes left?"

A smile lit up her face. "I think it's safe to say he's not going to show," she admitted.

"Then let's dance, shall we?"

* * *

She dropped her hand into his upturned palm and allowed him to lead her to the dancefloor. Couples were already scattering around them, tired and aware it was all coming to an end, moving to retrieve their flashy coats, get into their shiny cars, and head back to their castle-like homes. Henry's arm snaked around her waist and he drew her body to his, until her chest brushed his and their cheeks almost met. She placed one hand on his tuxedo-clad shoulder, but kept the other clasped in his. It was all very formal, so very Henry. His palm flattened against her lower back, and he began to move, and she followed.

It was an easy, slow dance, and she kept her eyes on the guests, on the entrances, but nothing out of the ordinary caught her attention. She moved with as much grace as she could, letting him sweep them around the dancefloor.

The song transitioned into another, the band keeping the partners in each others arms, serenading the rest of the guests out of the venue. Her body shuffling closer to Henry's, Jo relaxed into his embrace, aware the undercover officers outside the venue would alert them to any suspicious behaviour in the courtyard. But the call never came, and the band kept playing.

It was just her and Henry; just the sound of the soles of their shoes clicking on the polished floor, just the feel of him warm and solid against her, and the familiar, gentle scent that was decidedly his own. His fingers slid out from between hers, and he looped her arm around his neck, before dropping his hand to her waist. With both arms now curled around his neck her body sank into his, until her cheek rested on his shoulder and her nose almost brushed his jaw. Her stomach fluttered. She had once told Henry he had taught her how to feel again – what perhaps she should have been less subtle about was how those feelings were for him. All the feelings of love she thought foreign to her after Sean's death, they were all for Henry now. Her husband still had a place in her heart, always would, as Abigail would have a place in Henry's, but she couldn't deny it any longer: Henry had made his way into her heart too. Was taking up quite a chunk of it, actually.

It thrilled her – and scared her. It made her want to press her lips to his neck – made her want to run in the stupid heels right out of the ballroom.

His head shifted and he pulled back a little. She moved too, curious to see what had caused him to tilt his head so suddenly, when all she did was give him just the angle he needed to capture her lips in a sweet kiss.

Her lips parted and she kissed him back, wanting this so badly there was no surprise, no feelings of being caught off-guard, no need to hesitate. Her arms stayed looped around his neck throughout the languid exploration of mouths, the gentle nipping as she sucked his lower lip between hers, the caress when he eased out of the kiss and rested his forehead against hers.

"Admittedly," he said, his voice low, words just a little broken and filled with awe, "I have wanted to do that for quite some time."

She closed her eyes and smiled. "Why'd you wait so long?" she teased.

"The timing needed to be perfect."

Jo shifted and kicked off the heels, the loss of height allowing her to lay her cheek to his chest. She breathed him in and smiled. " _Perfect_ ," she repeated. "I'd say you nailed it, Henry."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, both still swaying to music that neither had noticed had ceased. "Our suspect failed to show, shall we call it a night and continue this elsewhere?"

"My place," she agreed, not pulling out of his arms, not yet ready to break the spell.

"Agreed," he said. With a sly smile, he added, "Abe says he's not waiting up but let me assure you, were we to return right now, he would be feigning sleep on the couch."

"My place it is then," she murmured against him, but content to just be in his arms neither pulled away.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Peanutbutterer: Henry appearing naked where Deeks is surfing.
> 
> NCISLA/Forever crossover

It was supposed to be a vacation. A chance for Jo to sit next to the hotel pool with a good book, sip a mojito, and forget about death for a while.  
She hadn't even minded that Henry had requested to follow her, some personal business in LA he needed to attend to at some point anyway, why not while she was there. They already spent so much time together, working side-by-side, and at least once a week after work. Some nights were spent drinking at a noisy bar, the rest of the team surrounding them; Fridays were usually reserved for a boisterous dinner – and endless red wine - with Abe; and, less often, they'd spend the evening with their heads bowed in quiet conversation, just the two of them, on her front steps after a hard case, talking long into the night until the cold forced him into a cab and her back into her empty home.  
No, she didn't mind having him along for company; it almost felt natural. What she did mind, however, was when he left early one morning to pick up coffee and pastries for breakfast – and the phonecall that came roughly an hour later.

She was going to kill him. _Again_.

* * *

He hadn't intended to stop a mugging while in LA. He had honestly meant to just wander down to the café he had spotted the night before, pick up something sweet and buttery and horrifically unhealthy, a couple of decent coffees, and head back to the hotel before Jo awoke. He wanted to thank her, on this last day in LA, for allowing him to tag along, to pick up a few items for Abraham and the shop, and just enjoy a few days away from formaldehyde and freezers.  
But when he had walked into the middle of the incident, there really had been little else to do but get between the mugger and the victim and stop the bullet with his own chest.

His last thought before death consumed him was that Jo was going to be royally pissed off with him.

* * *

Exhausted, but content, Deeks lay on his board, out past the breakers, bobbing with the gentle roll of the ocean. The waves had calmed, the sun was rising, and his partner would soon be knocking on his door with donuts and coffee - and a kiss. It was time to head in. He had just started kicking back to shore, when a dark mass appeared in the water before him and he tugged his board to the side, shifting his weight in an attempt to avoid it. His first thought was _shark_ , but it didn't look right. It almost looked like—

A man's head broke the surface beside him, spluttering and gasping, naked at least from the waist up. Surprised, but wasting no time, Deeks paddled quickly to the man and reached out a hand.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Deeks asked, pretty sure the man hadn't been there a moment ago.

Clasping his hand, the man sucked in a gulp of air and managed a wry smile. "It's a long story."

"Okay, uh…" Rolling off the board, he placed the man's hands on it, until they were both staring at one another from opposite sides, Deeks shaking his head in disbelief. "Hold on," he finally said. "I'll take you back to shore."

"Thank you," the man said in a rather formal English accent. Much better than his usual failed attempt. He'd have to remember how this guy spoke.

Peering over at the man as he helped kick them back to shore, it became glaringly obvious he wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing. Still his mouth couldn't keep the words in. "Are you naked?"

"I'm afraid so," the man replied in a dry tone.

"Bachelor party? Dare?"

"Somnambulism."

"You sleep walk?"

"Unfortunately."

"So you sleep… naked?"

"It's warm here."

Deeks blinked the sea-water out of his eyes, wondering if it was starting to affect his brain now too. "You know that's public indecency, right?"

"Painfully aware of that, yes."

"You know, I was pretty sure I'd seen it all, but a naked guy appearing out in the middle of the ocean beside my board? Yeah, that's new."

The man chuckled. "I appreciate the assistance. Might I ask that once we're back on shore I borrow your phone to call my partner?"

"Your wife get calls like that a lot?"

"Not my wife, partner, professional, and yes. She does." Pausing just before they reached the shallows, the man extended his hand across the board. "Doctor Henry Morgan, medical examiner with the OCME."

Deeks shook his hand. "Detective Marty Deeks, LAPD."

Henry's face fell. "I'm about to be arrested, aren't I."

"Yep," Deeks replied, popping the 'p'.

Henry sighed. "I'm quite confident I've just ruined my partner's relaxing vacation."

"She OCME too?"

"NYPD."

"Oh my God, this day just keeps getting better," Deeks announced with perhaps a little too much glee.

Henry merely groaned, and then held the surfboard up awkwardly in front of him as they exited the water, attempting to cover as much of his naked body as he could.

* * *

"You're _where_?" Jo asked, the displeasure in her voice clear down the line.

Rattling off the address of the precinct, Henry avoided Deeks' sparkling eyes from the other side of the cell's bars.

"You owe me big time, Henry. Do you understand? Big. Time."

"And I will make this up to you, Jo. I promise."

"Yeah, you're gonna."

Ending the call, Henry handed the phone back to Deeks and adjusted his LAPD sweats, his body still a little damp.

"Just a thought," Deeks began. "Maybe you've had it before, but just in case, can I suggest _pajamas_?"

* * *

Before he could snark the man further his phone buzzed. "Morning, Sunshine."

"Where are you?" Kensi's voice asked down the line.

"Precinct. You're not gonna believe the morning I've had."

"You okay?" she asked, concern in her voice.

"I'm good. Had a brief moment of thinking I was about to be eaten by a shark…" He paused at Kensi's audible intake of breath and grinned. "But once that passed and I realized it was just a random naked guy out for a swim well, the rest of the morning's been a blast."

"What did you just say?"

"Bring those donuts I know you're holding to the precinct and I'll show you."

"Do I want to see this?" she asked.

"Trust me. Yes."

"Fine. On my way."

He ended the call to find Henry giving him an unimpressed glare. "Well there's no way she'd believe me otherwise."

* * *

"Oh, please, Jo, get here soon," Henry quietly pleaded, the earful he was anticipating from her would be less painful than the joy Detective Deeks was getting out of this.

He definitely preferred LAPD's East Coast counterparts better.

* * *

Jo sighed as she eased behind the wheel of her rental. It was supposed to be a vacation, an escape from death for a while. Surely even Henry could go three days without getting himself killed.

She was never going anywhere with him again.

Oh, except maybe Paris.

Yes. Paris.

Well, he did owe her big time, after all…


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon said: FOREVER CROSSOVER WITH BEING HUMAN :D :D :D
> 
> (BBC Being Human/Forever crossover)

 

* * *

Henry had never been overly fond of Bristol; it was why, after obtaining a job as a pathologist at Flax Bourton, he chose to reside in Bath. Trains and buses caused him no bother. Bristol, however, did. Maybe it was his distaste for the city that was the cause of his tenure being so short. Or maybe it was what he saw that winter's evening, on his way to Bristol Temple Meads - to get on the last train he'd ever catch from there.

* * *

He would never forget the face of the woman lying on his slab. Too young, so innocent. The back of her head cracked from a fall down the stairs. Accident? Suicide? Murder? No one suspected foul play, but still the coroner had called him in. It seemed Henry was gaining quite the reputation for being good with death.

If only they knew how bad he was at staying dead.

Beneath the fluorescent lights, young Anna Clare Sawyer appeared to be at peace. She had been engaged, he had taken the ring off her finger himself and bagged it, and he felt for her family, all those left behind.

An examination of her arms showed no bruising, no flesh under her manicured nails, no defensive wounds of any kind. Rolling her to examine the head wound, he saw bruising on her back, but nothing that couldn't be inflicted during a fall down a flight of stairs.

Hours later, all samples bagged and sent to the lab, autopsy completed, Henry flicked off the light above her still body, and covered her with the sheet. He had found nothing to suggest foul play. It seemed poor Miss Sawyer had suffered a tragic accident - but despite that it didn't sit right with Henry. He stayed beside the body for a while after, resting his hand on top of hers, the sheet between them, just sitting with her.

It didn't feel right to leave her alone.

* * *

For days Henry poured over the evidence, some unexplainable need to link someone else to the death of Anna. By the end of the week the detectives had dropped the investigation, happy with the coroner's report of the death being accidental, and her body was interred.

But still Henry thought about it.

Still he thought about _her_.

* * *

Autumn turned into winter, and the snow fell, disrupting the city, bringing more elderly bodies to his slab, and a few ice-related crash victims.

He left work late one wintery night, exhausted, looking forward to getting off the train at his beloved Bath Spa, walking the short distance down Manvers St to the Bed and Breakfast he currently called home, and turning his attention to his own death-related problems. The Bristol streets were quiet now, and few pedestrians walked the streets, most people already bundled up at home for the night.

He glanced up as a woman approached him, her clothing making her look out of place on a winter's night. Dressed in leggings, a thin top, something about it seemed oddly familiar, something about it tugged at his chest and filled him with melancholy.

The woman smiled at him, and his own lips curled up in return. He paused then, and asked, "I'm sorry, but have we met before?"

The woman stopped, her sudden intake of breath audible in the night. "You can see me?"

Henry blinked in surprise. "Of course."

The woman let out a soft squeal of joy. But then, just as suddenly as her joy had burst from her, her eyes darkened and a sadness shrouded her pretty face. "Oh, actually, yes," she said. "We have met before."

"When?"

"My name's Annie, by the way," she told him, smiling again. "Not Anna. Not even my mum called me that." She turned to leave and as she walked off she murmured, just loud enough to be heard, "And thank you for sitting with me."

It hit him. So hard his heart felt like it broke in two. Most people would be asking _how_? _How was it possible?_ But Henry had learned a long time ago strange things were possible in this world. Forcing his feet to move, he followed her, turning the corner she had disappeared around - to find her gone.

"Annie?" he called, but there was no answer. Releasing a sad sigh, he said in a gentle voice, "It was my pleasure," before he turned away and continued on to the train station.

* * *

Waiting at Bath Spa two days later, he perused the _Times._ A name caught his eye, and he read the article with a tempest of anger and despair swirling in the pit of his stomach.

_Owen Norayan was taken into custody on Thursday evening, charged with the murder of fiancée Anna Clare Sawyer._

Closing the paper, he heaved it into the nearest rubbish bin with force. He may have sat with her, but he'd failed her completely that night. He couldn't go back to his job, couldn't go back to Bristol and fear running into her again.

The train to Bristol came, and went, and Henry stayed sat at the station, apologising in his head to the woman he had let down, hoping maybe she could hear him. He stayed there, until a train to London enticed him.

_A family emergency_ , he would say.

_A sudden need to return to America._

Bristol held too many ghosts now.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Peanutbutterer: Forever: Henry/Jo, Henry starts aging.

"Is everything alright, Jo?"

"Hmmm?" Jo asked, snapped out of her musings by Henry's amused tone.

"You seem rather fixated on my hair."

"Uh." She fumbled over her words for a moment, unsure whether to bring it up, unsure as to whether it was something he had done intentionally, or not. "The grey suits you," she said finally, going with casual.

"I'm sorry?"

"In your hair," she explained. "The grey flecks in it. I like it."

He blinked a couple of times, and then turned, stripping off his gloves with haste and dumping them on an empty metal slab before exiting the morgue.  
Huh. Perhaps not intentional then. She followed, a few steps behind but catching up, until the door to the men's' bathrooms came between them.

Her raps were soft as her knuckles connected with the door, yet loud enough to be heard on the other side. When no answer came she inched the door open and asked through the crack, "Can I come in?"

"Into the men's bathrooms?" His voice asked, a little uneven, distracted.

"Anyone else in there?"

"No."

Taking that as her invitation, Jo pushed the door open, carefully avoiding making eye-contact with the urinals, just in case. But she found him standing before the mirror, fingers separating the grey hairs from the rest, nose almost to the glass as he examined his reflection.

"What's going on?" she asked, moving to stand beside him, watching his reflection.

"I didn't do this, Jo," he told her. "And I can assure you these weren't here last night."

"Never had a grey hair before?"

He glanced back to ensure all stalls were empty, before replying, "Not in all my two hundred and thirty six years." His fingers closed around one strand, and he pulled, flinching as it came free. Leaning away from the mirror, he held it up before his face, the hair catching the light, and shook his head in a mix of wonder and fear.

"What does it mean?" Jo asked, her voice soft and as full of apprehension and interest as his own.

"I'm aging."

"It scares you," she said. Turning to face him, she let her hand fall on his arm; her fingers slid up and wrapped around his elbow. "Let's get out of here. I'm sure you're dying to get that under a microscope." She cringed at her choice of words. "I mean– I didn't mean–" She sighed. "Sorry."

If her words had bothered him it didn't show, and he just kept staring at the single grey hair pinched in his fingers, glinting under the harsh bathroom lights. He remained quiet, and a sudden chill sent a shiver through her. "They weren't there last night," she repeated his words, her voice sombre now.

"It's the speed at which they've appeared that unnerves me," he admitted.

She squeezed his elbow and gave a little tug. "Come on, let me take you home."  
His feet stayed planted in place, his body gripped by the fear of how sudden the appearance of these hairs had been. He wanted mortality, she knew this. But he wasn't ready to die. He had admitted, over too many drinks one evening, how he longed to experience aging again, as everyone else did. Perhaps marry, raise another child - or two - and celebrate the years as they passed with the bittersweet knowledge that his time was running out.

He wanted to know there would be an end - but he was thinking a good fifty years from now. Not tomorrow.

His feet shifted, and she walked him out of the bathrooms, the hair still gripped between his fingers, his features tight, his body tense. "We'll figure this out, Henry," she soothed. "It'll be fine."

Maybe it all meant nothing. Maybe the hairs had been there last night, and the night before, just quiet and unnoticed, waiting. Maybe he was aging, but as a person should. And maybe… _No_. She wouldn't allow her brain to go there. But, just in case, she'd be taking the rest of the day off too; she'd spend the evening with him, crash on his couch, and be there in the morning. She would spend as much of her own time with him until they did figure it out. Because death had a nasty way of taking people from her - especially those she loved.


End file.
